


Red umbrella

by ca_te



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 28 August 2009.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Red umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 28 August 2009.

Matt looks at the milky layer of fog over the green grass. The sky is low and the window is steamed up.

He looks at the clock. It's nine in the morning. He feels the fitted carpet under the plants of his bare feet. He can almost feel every grain of dust.

The sound of the water running through the pipes feels the room. Matt wonders who has just gone to the bathroom in the apartment above.

The air is chill and he feels the hair on his legs rise. It makes him remember the cold winter mornings at Wammy's, when he and Mello used to woke up in the same bed 'cause during the night they felt too cold.

He gives his back to the window as he looks for a cigarette. The bed is unmade, the blanket brushing against the floor. He knows he moves a lot in his sleep, Mello has always said that to him. Matt tries hard not to wonder with whom Mello sleeps now that they are definitely apart.

A white blanket and the cold light of the Netherlands are the only things which answer to his unexpressed question.

The tobacco is almost bitter in his mouth, it's as if his tongue is still asleep.

Matt goes back to the window, he tries to remember what he dreamt but he can't.

A man and his dog pass outside. A bird flies right over their heads.

Matt wonders when he has started to notice useless details. He wouldn't have done something like that just few years ago. But probably this is how you feel when the whole world slips under your feet.

Matt has never liked philosophy, though. It's not like you eat and earn money with philosophy. Is not like you feel better if you have love. His teeth sink in the filter.

He presses a hand against the glass. Mello used to write things on the mirror of their bathroom when it was steamed after a shower. Once he wrote "Mail", it was the first time Matt saw his real name written. It had been written by Mello's thin finger and Matt felt like if Mello had written it right on his skin.

The cigarette burns his fingers and he curses through his teeth. He opens the window and the morning hits him right in the face.

The clouded sky looks at him, he sees pity in the grey clouds and in the rain that lightly begins to fall. He wonders if it was a good idea to come here. But then he sees a red spot moving along the road, under the trees, under the rain. He squeezes his eyes. It is a umbrella. And under it a pair of pale legs.

She walks slowly, trying to avoid the pools, her skirt moves lazily around her knees. The umbrella swings lightly back and forth under the rain.

He is in front of the door before she can ring the bell. Standing in the narrow corridor, chills over his almost bare skin.

Trough the glass of the door she has the shape of a little grey bell. He turns the knob and the rainy light falls inside.

Matt looks at Linda, standing there, her shoes wet, her hair dangling like golden curtains at the side of her face.

-Seems I'm on time for the breakfast.

Matt thinks that her teeth just look like pearls. They are more clear than the beads of a rosary.

-Seems so.

Linda smiles and take a step into the apartment. Matt smells the rain on her, the rain and the oil colours she uses.

He closes the door.

-Let me prepare breakfast for you, it seems like you are still sleeping.

The laughter behind her words is almost palpable, it makes the narrow corridor, the pipelines and the fitted carpet shine a little bit more.

Matt follows her in the kitchen.

It was Linda who helped him finding a house in Maastricht. He had just told her that he wanted to change air, to go far from Mello and far from all the broken promises and the broken chairs Mello had meant. Then she had called him. Back then Matt hadn't thought to transfer for real. But it was Linda who had found a place for him. And he could trust Linda, he had always trusted here. So he hopped on a plain and left everything behind, or well he tried to.

Matt sits on one of the two old chairs and ligts a cigarette. He looks at Linda pouring milk in two mugs. Her wrists are white as the milk, and tender, with little blue mazes of veins under the skin.

Matt likes the sound the plates make on the wooden surface of the table. It makes him feel at home. He hears that kind of sound only when Linda comes. Otherwise he eats take-away pizza and chinese food. Mello didn't use to cook.

Matt listens to the little, familiar sounds Linda is making while preparing the breakfast. She quietly hums a song. Matt doesn't ask which song it is.

When she sits in front of him Matt presses the butt of the cigarette in the full ashtray.

Linda smiles. She has gotten used to Matt's smoking. He started when they were still at Wammy's, they both were thirteen years old. She remembers the disgusted face Mello made and the smiling face Matt had.

Matt looks at the cafe latte in the mug, he thinks it is of the same colour of Linda's little nipples.

-Here.

Linda pushes a little plate towards him. It has butter on it. It slides smoothly on the wood.

Matt lifts his gaze and meets the light green of Linda's eyes. They shine quietly, it seems as if the rain has washed them. They have always shone like this, since they were kids. But now, in this little kitchen, over this piece of butter, they seem to shine more than ever. And Matt realizes why he chose the Netherlands from the beginning. He remembers the warmth he felt when Linda came to pick him up at the airport, the surprise of seeing her as women for the first time.

Linda eats bread and butter, she eats slowly sipping her coffee.

Matt sinks in the silence between them, filled only by the little sounds they make as they eat. It makes him feel comfortable, as if they have always lived together. These breakfasts are so different from the ones he shared with Mello, cups of chocolate or of milk and cereals sitting on a unmade bed, the light falling on Mello's naked body.

Linda doesn't give off the tension, the energy Mello did. She is like calm, warm water. But Matt knows better, she is the only one who took her own way, who was strong enough not to be tangled up in that world of delusion that wanting to revenge L created.

He looks at the empty mug in front of him, he reaches for the cigarette box. Linda's hand is fresh over his. She doesn't say anything. Over time they both discovered that words are just a nuisance.

 

Matt looks at the lines of Linda's naked body. So soft and gentle, so different from Mello's angles and muscles. He gently brushes his fingers over the little apples of her breast. Linda's fingers are like breeze through his ruffled hair.

Her hands are like light little birds over his hips as he closes his eyes and enter her. It was with Linda that he discovered the softness of a girl's body for the first time. He had almost forgotten the warmth and the peace of being inside her, after years passed at Mello's side.

There's something new and yet so familiar in the way she lets her hands wonder along his spine, or in the way she presses her body against his.

Linda looks at the smoke swirling over their heads and at the clouds moving in the sky outside.

-Does your head spin when you look at the clouds moving?

Linda's hair rustle on the pillow as she shifts and rests her head on Matt's chest.

Matt thinks that it has been ages since he last looked at the clouds moving in the sky. He wonders if his head would spin, or if being with Mello, fighting at his side, has stolen him all the sensations that a human being should have.

He looks at the sky. The clouds run after each other. Matt smiles.

-I do.

Linda smiles, Matt feels her lips on his skin.

And there's just the softness of Linda's body and of the pale light of a dutch sky.


End file.
